"At the cost of your pride," he says bluntly. "Which is a small price to pay for your life."
I want to argue. Want to tell him he's wrong, that I could lead, that I could earn their respect if given the chance.
But looking at him now—seeing the genuine fear in his eyes, the exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands shake slightly—I can't bring myself to fight.
"Does Santino know?" I ask quietly. "About your health?"
"His father knows. They know the arrangement is more urgent than we initially let on publicly."
"So, it's not just about tradition and power."
"It's about survival, Liana. Yours and ours." He comes around the desk, standing close. "Promise me you'll make this work. Promise me you'll try."
I think about last night. About the way Santino looked at me, about Dorothy's wise words, about Gia's challenges.
About the fact that maybe, just maybe, I'm running out of valid reasons to push him away.
"I promise I'll try," I say finally.
It's not a lie. Not exactly. I will try.
I'm just not sure what I'm trying for anymore—to make the marriage work or to find a way to survive it with my soul intact.
Papa embraces me briefly but tightly. "That's my girl."
When I leave his study, I feel heavier, weighted down by expectations and guilt and confusion about what I actually want.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Santino.
Santino: Dinner tonight? We should talk.
We should talk. The four words every woman dreads hearing.
Me: Can't tonight. Family dinner. Tomorrow?
Santino: Tomorrow then. My place. 7pm.
Me: Looking forward to it!
I add an exclamation point and a heart emoji automatically, keeping it light and casual.
Like last night didn't fundamentally change something between us.
Like everything isn't spiraling completely out of my control.
I go to my room, seeking refuge. Gia is sitting on my bed, clearly waiting for me.
"What did Papa want?" she asks immediately.
"To make sure I'm making this work with Santino." I collapse next to her on the bed. "He's sick, Gia."
"What?" Her voice fills with alarm.
"Not seriously. Not yet, anyway. But he's not well." I stare at the ceiling. "He's doing this entire arrangement because he's scared. Because he thinks this is the only way to keep me safe when he's gone."
"Is he wrong?" she asks gently.
"I don't know anymore." I roll onto my side, facing her. "Dorothy told me I'm running. That I'm a coward for pushing Santino away before giving him a real chance."
